Taking It Slow (Just as Fast as We Can)
by TunaEveryNight
Summary: "Everybody's been talking about these nominations, all I can think about is last night." Inspired by episode 1x19 "Why Don't You Love Me"


After fourteen years of desperately longing for him and nearly five months of no sex at all, Rayna now remembers what it feels like to be deliciously, thoroughly fucked. It's worth every single night that she had lain alone, remembering his touch and furiously working her own fingers against her clit. She tells him that after the second time they make love. When she feels dick-drunk and overwhelmed by the headiness of finally being able to tell him all the things she'd kept hidden while she'd worn another man's ring on her finger.

She can tell by the dazed look in his eyes that he's feeling overwhelmed, too. His mouth moves a few times, trying to find the words he wants to say, but nothing comes out. Instead, he pulls the sheets away from her body and settles himself between her legs in a way that shouldn't feel as familiar as it does after all these years. He parts her thighs with those large, calloused hands she's never been able to forget and teases her with his tongue until she screams his name. After all these years, he's never forgotten that it's her favorite way to come.

x

He wakes her with gentle kisses, stroking her hands and nuzzling her neck. He grinds his hips against her ass and teases her about stealing the covers. She has missed this bed. She has missed this man.

Her skin feels hypersensitive after his exquisite overuse of her body last night. Her nerve endings are humming. She feels alive in a way that she hasn't in years.

She remembers when she was just sixteen years old, and he had made love to her for the very first time.

She'd been a virgin when they'd met and other than a few completely forgettable kisses, she'd had no sexual experience at all.

She'd wanted Deacon Claybourne from the first time she'd ever laid eyes on him. She could tell he was attracted to her too, but he'd kept her at arm's length for months.

She'd spent months shamelessly flirting with him and wearing her skirts a little too short and her blouses a little too tight, but it seemed to have no effect on him. One day, she'd asked for his help writing a song that had been giving her trouble. Every lyric they wrote and every melody they created drew them closer and closer together. He finally dumped his dull-as-dishwater girlfriend and two days later he kissed her for the very first time.

That kiss had been everything she'd imagined it would be and more. It was soft and passionate and his tongue had been a fleeting, teasing part of the kiss that made her throb between her legs.

It wasn't long after that first kiss that they'd ended up naked.

They had been parked out by the river on her mama's land, making out in the front seat of his beat-up pick up truck. She could tell he was hesitant to cross that line, but she had been insistent. She wanted him more than she'd ever wanted anything, and she was determined that she would have him.

He'd tried to slow things down, but then she'd started stripping off her clothes, and he couldn't bring himself to stop her. She pulled her shirt over her head and his breath caught in his chest. She shrugged out of her bra, tossing it carelessly towards the dashboard and his eyes had widened, unsure of where he was supposed to look or what he was supposed to do with his hands. She unbuttoned her jeans and finally something inside of him seemed to snap.

He carefully lifted her off of his lap and laid her down across the front seat. He unzipped her jeans and slowly worked them over her hips and down her legs. He did the same thing with her panties until she was completely, unabashedly naked. He kissed her and kissed her, running his hands reverently all over her body while he did. He kissed her mouth, and his hands skimmed the soft, firm skin of her belly. He lightly sucked her earlobe, biting it gently with his teeth and his fingers traced the slight swell of her hips. He moved down to her neck, placing hot, open-mouthed kisses along her jaw and his palms cupped her heavy, aching breasts. He nibbled her collarbone and his fingers moved to her nipples. He softly plucked and stroked them until they hardened between his fingertips and her hips began moving instinctively against his.

She was a mass of sensations.

He slowly moved down her body, laving her nipples with his tongue and gently touching her between her legs. He stroked her clit until she'd started shuddering in his arms and then he'd moved his fingers down to her entrance. He slid his fingertips inside of her and explored her wetness. He'd watched her with an intense, earnest expression on his face and just as she'd felt something large and heavy beginning to build in her pelvis, he'd crawled between her legs. His dick had throbbed against her. It felt hot and heavy and impossibly hard against her overly-sensitive flesh. He was trembling with want but he'd asked if she was certain in a shy, loving voice that confirmed he was exactly the man she wanted to give herself to for the very first time.

"You sure, Ray?" he'd asked, his eyes searching her face carefully.

"I love you, Deacon Claybourne," she'd said, her voice firm and certain. "I've never been more sure of anything in my life."

He'd twined one hand with hers and taken his dick in the other, lining himself up and then slowly pushing inside of her. She'd felt an almost overwhelming amount of pressure and then a sharp, blinding flash of pain. She'd bitten down hard on her lip and whimpered for just a moment. He held still, watching her intently, his eyes clouded with worry. But after a moment, the pain subsided and she reached up and kissed him. She moved her hips carefully, _minutely_ against his and then he slid his dick in and out of her, over and over again, moving agonizingly slowly. The pleasure built and built and before long, she was working her hips against his. He pulled her leg up and over his hip and suddenly the sensation changed and the pleasure was washing over her fast and hard. He'd buried his face in her neck and grunted her name as he came, the wet vibration of his voice humming against her skin. He had lain in her arms for a long time, both of them overwhelmed by what had just happened and then he'd kissed her again and again.

"I love you, Ray," he'd told her. His eyes were moist with sincerity, and she'd felt so unbelievably happy. She'd known in that moment that nothing would ever be the same again. That _she_ would never be the same again.

He'd woken up her body, and she'd experienced true pleasure for the very first time. After that first, blinding orgasm, she knew she'd never be able to live without that feeling again.

Except now, she is forty-two years old, and she knows exactly how it feels to live without this. She knows that husbands and wives can go days without kissing each other and not even realize it. She knows that making love can feel at best like a habit and at worst like an obligation. She knows that sometimes the best sexual experience she can have is fingering herself in the shower, thinking of her ex and quietly bringing herself to orgasm while her husband watches TV in bed just a few feet away.

She'd honestly thought that passion and desire and multiple orgasms had been a thing of the past, and now that this beautiful man and his encyclopedic knowledge of her body are back in her life, she is even more grateful for the pleasure she's getting to experience the second time around.

x

Her phone keeps ringing and reality is already intruding into their perfect bubble. She wants to throw the damn thing against the wall and climb back under the covers. Back into his arms. But the truth is, she is a mama now and this is an important day for her career. As much as she'd like to, she can't just shirk her responsibilities.

He quietly gets out of bed while she accepts congratulations from her label head and her eyes run greedily over his naked body as he walks to his dresser and pulls out a pair of dark blue sweatpants. He steps into them and pulls them over his naked ass. The soft material does absolutely nothing to hide the sizable hard-on he is still sporting, and she falters when she realizes that Marshall has stopped talking and is waiting for a response.

He tosses a knowing smirk in her direction and heads towards the kitchen. She flops back against the pillows while Marshall drones on and on about some stupid nomination party he wants to throw and all she can think about is how big and empty this bed suddenly feels without him in it.

As soon as she hangs up, she receives a call from her sister but decides to ignore it for now. She climbs out of bed, her muscles feeling wonderfully used and grabs the flannel shirt Deacon had been wearing the night before. She holds the collar up to her nose and breathes in the scent of fabric softener and cologne and something that is so distinctly, undeniably _him_. She shrugs into the shirt and quickly buttons the same buttons she had unfastened the night before, making her way towards the kitchen and the muted sounds of clanking pots and pans.

x

She hops up on the counter and watches him bustle around the room, scrambling eggs and flipping bacon and cooking them a ridiculously large breakfast.

The coffee finishes brewing, spitting and sputtering into the ancient glass decanter, and she teases him that his coffee maker is even more of a relic than he is. He teases her right back and says that only highfalutin, Belle Meade society types would do something as ridiculous as brew their coffee one cup at a time.

He pours the coffee into two matching ceramic mugs. He adds milk to both and a generous spoonful of sugar to hers. When he steps closer to pass her a mug, she runs her hand over his bare chest and presses a soft kiss against his lips. Her fingers trail down his chest, all the way down to the waistband of his pants and her fingers linger there until he steps away to flip the pancakes.

The coffee is strong and slightly bitter and so much better than the rich, fragrant stuff that pours out of the obscenely expensive espresso machine she has at home.

x

They eat a leisurely breakfast, twice refilling their coffee mugs and talking about everything and nothing. She tells him she loves him. More than once. She says it easily as if she hasn't spent the last decade and a half wearing another man's name after her own. His eyes crinkle in laughter. He looks happy..._content_...in a way that she hasn't seen in years. Maybe ever.

She is grateful that it's Teddy's week with the girls. She is allowed to sit here in his kitchen _in his shirt _and soak up this man that she has missed with a heavy ache in her heart every single day.

For one, delectable moment in time, she doesn't have to worry about packing lunches and school carpools and her failed marriage. It is enough just to be here with him. The one man she has never been able to stop loving.

x

He talks her into the shower after breakfast. He pours body wash into the palm of his hand and begins soaping her, his hands moving almost immediately to her breasts. She shivers against his touch and he pushes her up against the shower wall, allowing the water to wash over her body and using his mouth and fingers to tease her nipples until she is delirious with desire. He takes his time, going excruciatingly slowly, deliberately building on the pleasure he is giving her.

She begs. One filthy plea after another pouring out of her mouth. Begging him to fuck her. To be inside of her. His fingers. His tongue. His dick. Anything. She just wants to come.

The more she begs, the slower he goes. She says something particularly obscene, something she would _never _say if she weren't teetering on the edge of a completely soul-shattering orgasm, and she feels him chuckle smugly against her breast. She fists her hands into his hair and yanks his mouth towards her. She grinds against him in the shower, kissing him furiously while his fingers tug incessantly on her nipples and still he doesn't give her what she really wants. The one thing she really needs.

Before long the water cools, and she is shivering for an entirely different reason. He pulls her out of the shower and before she can even grab a towel, he bends her over the sink and thrusts his dick deep inside of her. She clutches the edge of the sink so hard her fingers turn white, and she rocks her hips against his. He grips her ass and frantically pounds into her, staring at her reflection in the mirror and looking just as gob-smacked as she feels. She feels the first flutters of an orgasm and her eyes slide shut as the feeling builds.

"Open your eyes, Ray," he gasps. "I want you to watch your face while I'm fucking you. I want you to see how sexy you look when I make you come. You have no idea how many times I've thought about that over the last fourteen years."

She keeps her eyes open and comes hard, nearly collapsing against the sink with the intensity or her orgasm. His eyes never leave hers.

x

She drives home slowly, feeling restless and anxious. She misses him already. She wants to turn the car around. She wants to walk back into his house _back into his arms _and fall back into his bed. She never wants to be without him again.

She mindlessly changes radio stations, settling on nothing. She is too keyed up to listen to any song for more than a few seconds, but she leaves the radio on anyway. The silence feels too loud right now. The drive from his house to hers feels much too far.

Her house feels big and impossibly empty. The girls are at are school and her soon-to-be-ex-husband will be staying somewhere else while she spends her week with them. She wanders around the kitchen making another cup of coffee. She feels antsy but the kitchen is already immaculately clean and there is nothing to do while she waits. She leans against the counter and stares at the coffee maker, slowly replaying the events of last night. Remembering every kiss, every touch, every 'I love you' they had shared.

She grabs her phone off the counter and quickly types out a text.

"Missing you," she writes.

She hesitates before sending it. In all the time they've known each other, she can count on one hand the number of texts that Deacon has sent her. And not all of them friendly. But she remembers driving to his house last night instead of the airport. Knocking on his front door when she wasn't even sure that he was alone. Finally saying all of the things that she had worked so hard to keep hidden while she was married to another man.

She quickly hits send before she can start to doubt herself and tosses her phone on the counter. It buzzes almost immediately.

"Missing you, too," he writes. "More than ever." She hugs her phone to her chest, closing her eyes tight and grinning like an adolescent girl. She is in love. And she knows that he loves her just as much.

x

She briefly considers a second shower. Her skin smells of his body wash, masculine and a little spicy. A tiny, slightly irrational part of her worries that someone will recognize his scent on her skin. But a different, _naughty_ part of her thrills at the idea. It is a delightful little secret that she gets to carry around with her for the rest of the day.

She dresses carefully, rifling through her underwear drawer until she finds something tiny and black and sheer. The g-string she chooses has little red flowers embroidered along the edges, each one dotted with a tiny, clear rhinestone. It is completely impractical for everyday wear. She pulls on the matching bra and studies her appearance in the full length mirror.

She wonders if Deacon will see her in this, today. She hopes he will. She can't imagine going much longer without feeling his body against hers. Without hearing the sexy gravel of his voice while he moves inside of her. Her body longs for him in a way that she's never experienced before. Her closet is full of beautiful, expensive clothing, and she takes her time deciding what to wear. Usually she pictures how a garment will look on her. Today, she simply pictures Deacon taking them off.

She decides on a floaty, teal dress that makes her eyes pop and a pair of six-inch, strappy black heels that are a little too over-the-top, a little too sexy for daytime wear.

x

She feels like she is floating. She can't stop smiling, and her cheeks feel warm and permanently flushed. It reminds her of the heady buzz she gets when she drinks one too many glasses of champagne. Or the intoxicating rush of adrenaline she feels when she's performing. When every note is played at just the right moment, and every harmony syncs perfectly with the melody. When every single part of the song she has created comes together just right.

For the first time, she thinks all the parts of her life might _finally_ be coming together.

She'd spent her entire marriage playing an intricate balancing game. Sacrificing love and passion for comfort and security. Denying her heart what it truly wanted in the best interests of her family.

After years of feeling torn in two different directions, always vaguely unsettled and more than a little discontented, she suddenly feels like true happiness might actually be within reach.

The thought is just as exhilarating as it is terrifying.

x

Bucky calls and tells her the details for the nomination party Edgehill will be hosting tomorrow night. She needs to decide which song she wants to perform, and then they will meet the band at Soundcheck that afternoon to do a run through.

She asks if Juliette will be there rehearsing, too, and Bucky tells her not to worry, that Juliette will be off in her own area and there's no reason the two of them should have to interact at all. She's not concerned about Juliette or her drama, though. She just wants to know if she and Deacon will be in the same building at the exact same time.

x

Rehearsal goes well. She's been doing this for over twenty years, and she could probably perform 'Stompin' Grounds' in her sleep. It still feels good, though, when everyone compliments her performance. Adria tells her she is glowing, and Bucky says the nomination has put a little extra sparkle in her step. She smiles and doesn't bother to correct them.

She and Bucky are wandering through Soundcheck when she spots him chatting with some of her band members. Deacon shoots her a look that is pure sex, and she excuses herself immediately. She turns down the nearest hallway, and her heart races as she hears his footsteps fall in line behind hers. They turn another corner, and he takes her hand in his, pulling her into an empty storage closet.

"Okay, we got about three minutes and a half minutes before the whole world comes lookin' for you," he says.

She tells him she needs to take things slow, and then he starts teasing her. Nuzzling his nose against hers and grinding his erection against her hip. It's a game she recognizes from all those years ago. He'd take her right to the brink and then leave her hanging there indefinitely, the tension and desire slowly building the longer she had to wait for release.

There had been so many times when he'd pushed her against the wall of her dressing room, kissing that sensitive spot behind her ear and slowing dragging his fingers in and out of her in a slow, torturous rhythm right before she went out on stage. Denying her an orgasm until after she'd finished her set and damn near attacked him backstage.

Sometimes he'd spend an entire after party whispering filthy things in her ear. He'd keep her flustered and aroused by carefully detailing every single thing he was going to do to her _every single way he was going to make her come _once they finally got back to their hotel room. Sometimes, he would get her so worked up that they didn't even make it back to the hotel. She'd end up dragging him out of those tedious-as-shit after parties and fucking him stupid in the first empty restroom or darkened hallway they found.

There are so many things to consider. So many reasons to be cautious. Her girls. Her career. Her impending divorce. There are so many reasons she needs to take this relationship slowly.

But for now, in this tiny closet, hidden away from everyone else, she does not want slow.

She wants to kiss him and taste him and make him lose control in the same way that he always makes her lose control. So she turns him around and pushes him against the wall and sinks to her knees in front of him. He starts to protest, but she silences him by taking his dick in her mouth. She knows they don't have much time so she slips her own hand under her dress. She gets herself off with one hand while she strokes his dick with the other. He whispers her name over and over again, and she makes him come with her mouth.

x

She heats up a frozen pizza for dinner and mentally sets another place at the table for Deacon. She wants him in her home, with her daughters, on her stage, and in her bed.

The girls chat excitedly about the CMAs while they eat. Daphne thinks she should wear something purple and sparkly, but Maddie immediately nixes the idea. Both girls agree she should wear her hair up this year, and then they beg permission to stay awake and watch the entire show even though it's scheduled for a school night.

After dinner, she helps Daphne with her spelling words while Maddie works on a report for her history class. The girls head upstairs to brush their teeth and change into their pajamas, and her phone buzzes with a text message.

"Busy?"

"Getting the girls ready for bed. You?"

"Just now leaving Soundcheck. You wanna call me later?"

"You going to talk dirty to me?"

"Yes, ma'am."

x

"What are you wearing?" he leers. He's sort of joking but _mostly_, completely dead serious.

"Nothing," she hums in a cocky, confident tone that she knows drives him crazy. "Just lying under the covers in this big old bed completely naked."

"Where's your hand?" he asks softly.

"Right where your hand should be."

He groans, and she strokes her fingers over her swollen clit.

"Are you wet?" his voice is low and breathless.

Her fingers dip lower, feeling the slick wetness between her legs. "You won't even believe how wet," she whispers. There is a large damp spot beneath her hips already. Partly due to the sweat trickling down the backs of her thighs, but mostly due to how incredibly, _undeniably_ aroused she is. "I'm going to have to change my sheets after this."

"What are you thinkin' about?" he asks.

"Last night," she says, "when I was on top. Touching myself."

The first time they'd made love had been slow, deliberate. They'd gently touched each other and carefully re-discovered all of the naked skin they had both missed so much. He'd laid her down on the bed and twined his limbs with hers, holding her as closely against his body as he could and slowly moving inside of her until she'd come apart in his arms.

But the second time had been a little dirtier, a little more playful.

They'd been laying on their sides, their legs tangled together and the sheets pushed to the floor, when he'd slid his hand behind her knee and gently pulled her leg over his hip. She'd taken the hint and rolled on top of him. She'd moved her hand over his dick, marveling at his hardness, and lightly stroked him once, _twice_ before straddling his hips and sinking down on top of him.

She'd sat up straight, arching her back and pushing out her breasts while she rode his dick. He'd stared at her wide-eyed while his hands gripped her hips. Her fingers moved to her breasts, toying with her nipples, and his breath had quickened. Emboldened, she'd brought one hand to her mouth, her eyes never leaving his as she licked her middle finger and reached between her legs, teasing her clit as she moved smoothly up and down on his dick.

"You have no idea how sexy you looked, baby," he says, his voice tight with desire. "There's just something about watching you touch yourself," he whispers. "You have no idea how much it turns me on."

"I wish you were here. It's so much better when you're inside of me."

"Yeah?"

"Mmhmm," she hums, "I've gotten really good at this. For years, it was the only way I could come," she confesses. "But it's just so much better when you're inside of me. Everything's better with you."

"Jesus, Ray," he moans. "I wish I was there, too. I'd make you come any way you wanted. I'd make up for every single time you had to do it yourself."

She pushes her fingers inside of herself and whimpers. Her orgasm is building, and she knows she doesn't have long.

"Take your clothes off," she says. "I want you to wrap your hand around your dick," she whispers over the phone. "I want to hear you come while I'm getting myself off."

And because he's never been able to tell her no, that's exactly what he does.


End file.
